


Best Foot Forward

by hikaru9, Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Come Eating, Explicit Sexual Content, Humiliation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru9/pseuds/hikaru9, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Aziraphale finds himself locked up in the Bastille, with Crowley coming to his rescue. Crowley has had enough of Aziraphale's not-so-subtle attempts to get what he wants and decides to force the issue.Featuring art by the immensely talented hikaru9!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 155





	Best Foot Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Forbidden Fantasies zine

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille?” Crowley’s tone is sharp in a way that Aziraphale doesn’t like. “I thought you were opening a bookshop?”

Aziraphale lifts his chin primly, maintaining as much of his dignity as he can.

“I was. I got peckish.”

“Peckish?” Crowley growls.

Opening his mouth to make some adorably naive comment about crepes that will surely soften the fire that’s raging in Crowley, Aziraphale finds that Crowley hasn’t actually stopped to let him answer.

“You popped across the channel, dressed like  _ that _ , during a revolution, because you were hungry? Is that what I’m expected to believe, Aziraphale?” Crowley is on his feet now, waving his hands and looking agitated. “We don’t even  _ get _ hungry. This is clearly some whim of yours that you’ve taken too far.”

Looking down at his clothes, Aziraphale frowns.

“What do you mean ‘dressed like that’? I do have standards.” The insult to his wardrobe is a step too far no matter how annoyed Crowley may be.

Crowley gives him an appraising look, clearly unimpressed. He flicks one wrist, vanishing the executioner and begins to pace the small cell, telegraphing his irritation in a most off-putting manner.

Aziraphale presses his lips together and straightens his back; he is, at least, being rescued today.

“I don’t understand this, Aziraphale, I really don’t. What are you playing at, here?” Crowley is frustrated and waspish.

“I’m not  _ playing _ at anything, Crowley.” Aziraphale snaps before remembering himself. He takes a breath to centre himself and tries again. “You know me, you know how I am. Head in the clouds or stuck in a book most of the time. I barely knew any of this was going on.” He fixes Crowley with an apologetic look and the hint of a pout.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Crowley’s response shocks Aziraphale enough that it shows on his face.

“Well, I- uh, I just mean to say that I’m ever so grateful for the rescue. You really are my hero.” Aziraphale holds his hands up to remind Crowley of the heavy manacles chaining him to the wall.

“Oh, well, as long as you’re  _ grateful _ , that’s alright then.” Crowley’s pacing takes him around Aziraphale’s back and out of sight. Aziraphale feels like prey being circled but refuses to give Crowley the satisfaction of turning to watch him. Suddenly, Crowley is back on his right and snarling. “There is absolutely no reason that you can’t get yourself out of this situation, which leaves me with one possible conclusion: that you’ve got yourself locked up here on purpose, to make me come and rescue you. Am I close?”

Aziraphale can’t bring himself to answer or look Crowley in the face. They both know that it’s true.

“Damn it all, Aziraphale,” Crowley says after a meaningful silence. “Do you even realise how dangerous this is for me? What my lot would do to me if they found out about this?”

Crowley is furious, Aziraphale realises with a sinking feeling. He’s gravely misjudged the risks and put his dearest friend in an impossible situation.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale mumbles, his eyes misting.

“Is The Arrangement not enough? This is supposed to be about making our lives easier!” Crowley throws his hands up and paces back out of sight.

“I- I didn’t- I don’t-” Aziraphale can’t find the words he wants.

“Is this all you want from me? Is this what it’s all been about for you? Just a player for your damsel in distress fantasies?” Crowley sounds wrecked.

“No!” Aziraphale shouts, distraught at the thought. “No, that’s not it at all.”

“So what is it then?” Crowley hisses viciously from somewhere by his ear.

How could he even begin to explain all the things that Crowley means to him? The way he feels, the thoughts he has in his most private moments? It’s simply not possible. He shakes his head sadly.

Fingers like claws grab him by the arms, lifting him from the stool and pushing him forward into the wall.

“You want something darker, then? More than just a rescue?” Crowley’s breath is hot on Aziraphale’s neck. “Something forbidden and just a bit dangerous? Sharp-toothed enough for a thrill but tame enough to be put back in its box when you’re done, is that all I am to you?”

“No! Crowley, no, please.”

“Do you think I’m sssso tame?” Crowley hisses, his voice might as well be venom for the way it makes Aziraphale feel.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale sobs, his face and chest pressed against the rough wall. “You know I can’t say it, you know I can’t just ask. I want  _ you _ , as you are. I don’t want to change you or tame you. I just want you.”

Crowley rubs his own cheek against Aziraphale’s; scales have erupted in patches across his skin and they drag against Aziraphale’s softness.

“Ssso, I’m jussst suppossssed to  _ take _ ? Corrupt the angel who can’t assssk?” Crowley’s hiss grows more pronounced and Aziraphale feels the flicker of a slender tongue against his earlobe when Crowley pulls back.

“Would you?” Aziraphale asks so quietly that for a moment he thinks that Crowley hasn’t heard.

After a deep, shuddering breath, Crowley’s whole body is pressed against Aziraphale’s back, his arousal desperately obvious where his hips push forward. Pin pricks of pain draw Aziraphale’s attention to the grip on his arms; Crowley’s hands are fully scaled and each finger ends in a sharp talon that punctures his clothing.

“Ssssay it, angel. Ssssay what you want.”

Aziraphale swallows, swallows his nerves and his fear down into his stomach.

“Please, Crowley.” His voice trembles. “I can’t.”

“You can. You don’t want to, but you can.” Crowley grinds his hips forward again and Aziraphale whimpers.

“I want you, oh Crowley, I want you to have me.” He almost doesn’t say it, almost loses his nerve at the last second.

“Wasss that ssso hard?” Crowley asks, his hands already tearing at Aziraphale’s breeches.

His talons make quick work of the fastenings, slicing them off or tearing through the fabric around them. Aziraphale begins to protest but finds that he doesn’t actually care as much as he expected. The tatters of his breeches fall slack around his knees as Crowley gathers the tails of Aziraphale’s coat and shirt in one hand and tucks them aside, over Aziraphale’s hip.

“This isss what you want?” Crowley demands as he grazes his claws across the bare skin of Aziraphale buttocks.

“Yes, yes, Lord help me, it is.” Aziraphale won’t raise his voice above a whisper but Crowley doesn’t seem to mind.

With his hands manacled before him, it seems natural for Aziraphale to slide his hard cock between his palms and rock his hips. Crowley catches the movement and snatches his hands away, tugging on the chain that holds him.

“You don’t touch unlesss I sssay sso, got it?” Crowley snarls, releasing his grip on Aziraphale’s hands.

Aziraphale nods his understanding, sneaking a look at Crowley as he brings his hands up to cushion his head against the wall. His eyes are fully golden and his face is far more pointed than usual, scales and skin covering him in equal parts. His teeth have become sharp fangs and his tongue is long, slender, and flickering. It thrills Aziraphale to know that Crowley is struggling to keep a tight hold on his corporation, that he is so affected by their closeness.

The sound of tearing cloth comes a moment before the first touch of Crowley’s cock against Aziraphale’s skin. It’s hot and hard; Aziraphale can feel the trail of slick wetness that the tip leaves across his buttock.

Crowley grinds into him, rubbing the length of his arousal in the cleft between Aziraphale’s cheeks. No one has ever touched him like this before- indeed, any touch is a rare enough event that this is quickly overwhelming. The backs of scaled knuckles stroke his face, reminding him that, despite all their angry words, this is still Crowley.

Beside his ear, Crowley growls in frustration and pulls his hand away, shaking it as if he’s trying to rid himself of pins-and-needles. The black scales recede, leaving soft pink skin and short fingernails in the place of talons.

Aziraphale is about to comment that he admires all of Crowley’s forms when warm fingers slide along the cleft of his arse and stroke at his hole. He understands immediately and is grateful for Crowley’s foresight.

An act of demonic reality-manipulation has those fingers instantly coated in something wet and slippery; Aziraphale arches his spine and pushes his hips back, presenting wantonly to Crowley’s attention.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” Crowley growls as he grips Aziraphale’s hip with his other hand, talons still present and piercing.

Aziraphale doesn’t answer, any words he might have to offer are knocked out of him by the sensation of Crowley’s finger sliding inside. It’s a strange invasion, stretching and briefly uncomfortable. Crowley’s breath is hot on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, laboured and urgent in a way that betrays his own desire. The finger inside him begins to move, encouraging him to relax and loosen for further intrusion. With a deep, needy moan in his throat, Aziraphale realises that the discomfort has shifted into pleasure and he wants more.

“Oh, how sssinful you are. How hungry you are for my cock,” Crowley says before licking up Aziraphale’s neck with his serpent tongue.

Aziraphale whimpers at the flare of pain that accompanies Crowley’s second finger pushing into him but it settles almost immediately into the sensation of being just pleasurable enough. He can’t refute the things that Crowley is taunting him with, because they are true. He’s desperate for Crowley to take him, to claim his body right there in the gloomy cell. He supposes it must be a sin to want such a thing as badly as he does.

Suddenly, he’s empty. Crowley’s fingers are out of him and Aziraphale  _ whines _ at the loss, earning him a chuckle and a slap on the arse.

“Greedy, slutty angel.” Crowley says as he shifts, lifting Aziraphale by the hips and summoning the stool from the centre of the room so Aziraphale can kneel on it.

With a frustrated noise, Crowley slides one sharp talon into the collar of Aziraphale’s coat and drags it down, slicing through every layer of clothing. He pushes the sleeves down Aziraphale’s arms, and the sudden flood of cool air makes him shiver.

The sensation of Crowley’s mismatched hands roving over his back is delicious and possessive; Aziraphale feels as though he’s being examined, appraised, as well as admired. Crowley’s cock nudges at him, focusing his attention rather sharply.

“Tell me,” Crowley demands, pressing his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale hesitates, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Crowley bites the top of Aziraphale’s shoulder in warning, making him yelp.

“I want you! Crowley, please, I want you.” Aziraphale begs, feeling his cock twitch in response to Crowley’s bite.

“You do, don’t you?” Crowley says, but it’s no longer a question that Aziraphale can answer because Crowley is easing into him and all thoughts have been knocked clear out of his head.

It hurts at first and Aziraphale’s fingers curl against the wall in response, the warmth of over-stretching tips just into a burn for a couple of seconds, but then Crowley’s cock is inside him and inching deeper. It’s a gradual dragging sensation that fills him up and it’s all he can do to whimper and hold still for Crowley, wonderful Crowley, Crowley who always gives him what he needs.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Crowley gasps between kissing and nipping at Aziraphale’s shoulder.

With an impatient little buck of his hips, Aziraphale tries to indicate that he would very much like Crowley to move now, to fuck into him or start the slow drag out. Crowley chuckles against his skin, thrusting forward the last inch or so to give Aziraphale what he’s begging for as hard as he possibly can.

“If I’d known you’d feel this good taking my cock, I’d have made you beg for it centuries ago. You would have, as well, wouldn’t you?” Crowley starts a cautious, steady rhythm as he taunts Aziraphale.

“Oh, yes. Yes!” Aziraphale feels like he’s full of fireworks, fizzing and sparking endlessly. “I’d have begged you to take me roughly, just like this!”

“Oh angel, this isn’t rough yet.” Crowley sounds devilishly pleased with himself as he switches up his hold on Aziraphale’s body.

His clawed and scaled hand takes hold around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him tightly against Crowley’s hips. The other hand crosses Aziraphale’s chest and grips at his throat, squeezing tightly enough to make Aziraphale wonder if he’s capable of passing out.

With this new grip, Crowley begins to fuck into Aziraphale with vicious thrusts that push him into the wall and pull him back flush with Crowley again and again.

It feels so much better than Aziraphale has ever imagined, and he  _ has _ imagined it- more than a few times; it’s overwhelming and consuming and breathtaking. He feels almost as though he’s merged with Crowley to become one being of pure pleasure.

He’s choking on his lust, Crowley squeezing it out of his throat until he sees stars. Suddenly, the pressure is gone and Crowley’s hand drops to Aziraphale’s aching, neglected cock.

“Filthy angel, you’re going to come while a demon fucks you,” Crowley growls, as much a threat as a promise.

He bites Aziraphale’s bare shoulder hard, needle sharp teeth easily breaking the skin and making Aziraphale howl in confused agony and pleasure. Crowley’s hand is tight on his cock, stroking him in time with the insistent thrusts.

“I am, oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale cries out, feeling his climax building.

It breaks like a dam, draining him in a glorious outburst of sheer pleasure that Crowley holds him through, kissing over the broken skin and up into Aziraphale’s hair. The last shivers of orgasm pass and Crowley pulls out of him, still hard. Aziraphale’s mind runs through a litany of possible demands that Crowley might make of him now.

“On your knees,” Crowley demands, “facing me.”

Aziraphale hurries to comply, his legs still trembling from his climax. Crowley reaches down behind him and pulls off his shoes, dropping them onto the floor in front of Aziraphale.

“Hold them up,” he snaps.

Struggling to work around his manacles and the tatters of his clothing, Aziraphale picks up the satin shoes and holds them out to Crowley, a frown on his face. Crowley makes a quick adjustment to Aziraphale’s position, putting the shoes where he wants them before taking himself in hand and stroking with purpose.

“Here’s what I think of your  _ standards _ , Aziraphale, your priorities, and your pretty little shoes.” Crowley is looming over Aziraphale, stroking his cock vigorously and grunting.

Knowing that he must look horrified, Aziraphale can only watch as Crowley spills his climax onto the shiny satin. Milking the last few drops from the tip, Crowley is wrecked and spent, his hair in disarray and his features more reptilian than human.

“Crowley, my shoes are ruined!”

Crowley grins, showing far too many teeth as he miraculously sets his clothing to rights and begins regaining control over his corporation.

“I thought you were peckish, angel? Why don’t you lick them clean?”

And in a flash, Aziraphale  _ wants _ to. He wants to because Crowley wants him to and if it will make Crowley happy, then Aziraphale will be happy as well. Putting out the tip of his tongue, Aziraphale lifts one of his beautiful, expensive shoes to his mouth and begins licking off the salt-sour evidence of Crowley’s pleasure.

“Damn it, angel, you look magnificent like that.” Crowley groans and watches until Aziraphale has licked up the last drop, maintaining an intense eye contact that Aziraphale swears he can feel throughout his entire corporation.

The shoes are ruined, wet and stained, and Aziraphale’s clothes are hanging off his arms in tatters. He looks imploringly at Crowley before remembering himself and the lesson he’s just been learning.

“Crowley, dear, I don’t suppose you could help me with my clothes?” Asking feels awkward, but Crowley, now fully back in his customary form, smiles so warmly and strokes Aziraphale’s cheek with such a gentle caress that he knows it was the right move.

“Of course, angel,” Crowley snaps his fingers and Aziraphale is dressed in smart blue and cream like a good revolutionary, the manacles finally falling away from his wrists. He is still holding the ruined satin shoes. “The shoes are still good enough. You can wear them and remember this, angel. We both face our dangers to get what we want- I won’t let you play me.”

“No, quite right,” Aziraphale looks at his shoes for a moment before slipping them back onto his feet and clearing his throat. “I am sorry, Crowley. Thank you for making me ask, and, perhaps... for the first of many?”

Crowley freezes and stares at Aziraphale, his lips slack and parted. A few monosyllabic sounds indicate that he’s attempting to communicate.

“Yeah, right,” he says at last before clearing his throat and looking away from Aziraphale’s open expression. “Come on. You can buy me lunch.” Crowley pushes the cell door open and leads Aziraphale back to freedom.


End file.
